The Last King of Lydia by Tim Leach

had been taken into the royal household without complaint.
    He looked at the women. Danae moved through the crowd, mollifying disappointed fathers, entertaining visiting ambassadors and diplomats. He looked at Iva, the woman his son had chosen at last to
be his wife. She had a delicate beauty, and it was not difficult to see why Atys had been drawn to her, though she was thinner than Croesus would have liked, and shy too. She was the daughter of a
minor nobleman, and it was a match that gave no political advantage, but to the king that no longer mattered. He saw Maia sitting with the new bride, talking quietly. He supposed she was telling
Iva of what would happen in the night ahead, telling her not to be afraid. Beside them both, Gyges sat with a bewildered expression on his face, looking in on a strange ritual from this other
world. He had, at least, understood enough to remain quiet during the ceremony. The king wanted no ill omens on this day of all days.
    Croesus turned away from the wedding crowd, and found Isocrates at his side, waiting silently for orders.
    ‘Isocrates.’
    ‘Master.’
    ‘Everything is well with our guests? No trouble from the Ionians?’
    ‘They seem to be behaving themselves. Do not worry, all is as it should be. It is a fine wedding.’
    ‘Yes. I suppose it is.’ Croesus smiled.
    ‘You are happy, master?’
    ‘Relieved. It’s a difficult thing, having one’s happiness depend on those one cannot control. Don’t you think?’
    ‘I wouldn’t know, master.’
    ‘I suppose you wouldn’t.’ Croesus turned away, but did not dismiss his slave. ‘I’d like you to do some investigating for me.’ He gestured to the milling
crowd. ‘Talk to the Athenians. They have a small delegation here. Afterwards, send our messengers and emissaries to the city.’
    ‘Yes, master. And what am I to enquire about? The state of the Athenian army perhaps? Or their relations with Sparta, with Delphi?’
    ‘No, no. Nothing like that. I want you to find out about Tellus.’
    ‘Tellus?’
    ‘Yes.’ Croesus looked closely at his slave. Few would have noticed a change in the man, for he had given no obvious outward sign. The slightest tensing of the slave’s body, a
particular flatness to the eyes – it took a man as familiar with him as Croesus to notice this response. ‘You have heard of him?’ the king said.
    ‘I do not think so,’ Isocrates replied. ‘Whom do you mean?’
    ‘A man of some fame. Dead now, or so I have heard. Killed in battle against Eleusis. Solon spoke of him. It shouldn’t be hard to learn more of him. Not for a man of your
talents.’
    Isocrates bowed low to hide his eyes. ‘As you wish.’ He turned to walk away.
    ‘Isocrates?’
    He looked back at his king. ‘Yes?’
    ‘You are sure you have not heard of Tellus?’
    ‘No, master,’ Isocrates said.
    It was the first lie he had ever told his king.

6
    Far north of Sardis, the woods of Mysia sprawled across land that lay beneath high mountains. They were dense, broken only by the path of the great Macestus river, and the
occasional natural clearing where the trees would not grow. It was in one of these rare clearings, at the same moment that Atys’s marriage was taking place in the great city to the south,
that a hunter lay on a bloodied patch of earth. He lay, quiet and still, and waited to die.
    It was a monster, larger than any boar he had ever seen or heard of before. They had heard the rumours, he and his friends, and had gone out into the woods to hunt it. To protect their lands. In
pursuit of glory. They were all experienced hunters, careful and skilled. It hadn’t mattered. The boar had killed them all.
    He had set the spear perfectly as the boar charged at him. Again and again, he re-created the moment in his mind, trying to think what he could have done differently, but there was nothing. The
spear had been positioned without error, but as soon as the point touched flesh, the shaft had shivered and